


Feel Alright

by asequenceofbaddecisions



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm building to something here, It will make sense eventually, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sokovia Accords Dissolved, Stony - Freeform, Time Skips, Timeline What Timeline, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, You'll figure out the timeline later, figure it out - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asequenceofbaddecisions/pseuds/asequenceofbaddecisions
Summary: Some years after Civil War, and Steve goes missing. When he is rediscovered, something is amiss, leaving others to deal with the repercussions.





	1. M.I.A. - Part One

“Get him on the med bay – we’re going to need a pulse oximeter, ECG, blood pressure – someone get a cannula set up—”

The skeletal body hauled up onto the gurney looked alien in form, translucent skin scarcely veiling bone.

“Acute asthma exacerbation – not sure we have any Ventolin onboard, so get a breathing tube and the pump ready—”

“Ventricular tachycardia present, sir – I’ve got the defib prepped in case of persistence.”

“High temp – I think it’s fever, sir—”

“We’ll sort that on landing – make sure they’re ready for us.”

“On it, sir.”

Sam Wilson, shoved to the side a while ago, could only stand by helplessly. When Fury came to him with a recon mission, this was not what he expected to drag back out.

“Look, Sam…”

“Don’t. I am warning you.” Natasha held her breath. Tact was one of many tools to her belt, but this was tricky, even for her. A shout of “start chest compressions” emanated across the jet.

“You have your mission, I have mine—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit—”

“If I had told you, it would have endangered the team.” Deep breath, Natasha. “We got Steve out and that’s all that matters.”

Sam shook his head, eyes turning cold. “I’m going to ring Bucky, see what he can give us.” His tone was low and dangerous. “You can be the one to tell Tony.”

The doctors now seemed twice as concerned about Steve’s condition than before, if that were possible. “He’s spasming—” And he really was. “Defibrillate on three.” Natasha averted her eyes. It felt…undignified to watch such a revered man in his current state. The defibrillator delivered a shock almost too powerful for the body to take. Machines screamed. A phone rang.

“…Tony.”

“Romanoff, you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on, _right now_.” The bite in Tony’s voice was animalistic. A doctor shoved past, and Nat took a seat. “Last I heard, Steve was on a mission, next Maria texts me saying he’s been missing for eight days? Eight fucking days?”

“Not missing, just…out of range. We didn’t want to tell you, it would have en—”

“Endangered the team, got it. Where is he? Is-Is he alive?” The pause in Natasha’s voice was telling. “Oh fuck…no, no no, fuck—”

“He’s not dead, Tony. He’s just not in a great way,” She craned her neck to see past the crowded gurney, heard a crack and caught a glimpse of bloodied rib, “Really not in a great way.” Nat stood and made her way towards the front of the jet – she had enabled remote flight on entry, knowing Sam wouldn’t be up for piloting. “Prepare yourself. We should be back at the compound in five.”

She could hear a rattled breath through the phone. “What did they do to him?” The voice was small and almost made Natasha forgive him for the attitude.

“We think…they de-serumed him. Or deactivated its effects – something like that. Whatever HYDRA have been cooking in their caves has worked. And if they have an anti-serum, it’s pretty likely they’ll have the real thing soon.”

 Nat glanced across at Sam, hoping to gauge the mood of his phone call – by the look of his head in his hands, it was not going well. “Sam’s calling Bucky, we’re hoping to get a full list of his pre-serum health issues before we land. We also need to figure out exactly what happened in those eight days,” she looked again at Steve’s convulsing form, littered with mottled swellings and bloody wounds, “because it looks like he took a beating.”

“Nat, I—” Tony’s voice broke thickly, “I can’t lose him.”

Natasha sighed. “I’ll keep you posted.” The phone beeped off. With perfect timing, Sam approached, looking despondent.

“Asthma. Heart trouble. High blood pressure. Then sinusitis, chronic flu, scarlet fever, rheumatic fever, ‘nerves’; any number of those could still be floating around.” Sam ran a hand over his head. “Mom died of tuberculosis, so might be susceptible to that.”

“Right—”

“Whoa, not done – scoliosis, part deaf, terrible eyesight, stomach ulcers and anaemia. And that was the stuff Bucky could remember.”

“I mean…I guess most of that isn’t a death sentence?”

“But all crashing down on you at once?” Sam waved in the general direction of the patient. “Can’t be good for a bag of bones like that. And on top of whatever the hell they did to him at that base, it’s really gone and messed him up.”

“How did Bucky take it?”

A mirthful laugh. “About as well as you’d expect. Tony?”

“Worse.”

“Ha. Bucky’s flying out as soon as he can, thinks he can help him cope. Worth a shot, if nothing else,” Sam glanced at the control system, brows furrowed and tired, “We’ve not got a lot left to lose.”

The doctors at the medical bay paused for a moment, taking stock of Steve’s breaths – in, out, in, out – seeming satisfied at the pace and timbre. Natasha moved towards them, peeking over trolleys and wires to eye her teammate. He was less bloody than earlier – a few major scrapes stitched and patched for now. Still mostly caked in grime, but motionless and visible. His gaunt face was foreign to her – and he was definitely shorter. The Russian blood in Nat took stock of less obvious injuries. Ribs dented from the CPR, breathing not quite regular (but void of the rattle of a punctured lung), and scoliosis throwing his stature off a little. Electrode pads from the AED remained in place on his bare chest, a clinical warning that he wasn’t out of the dark yet. Nat half expected this stranger to wake up with no knowledge of Steve Rogers, insisting that they’d brought the wrong man back. That somehow there was a second combat uniform left hanging in another cell, where the strong, silent guy they knew was sat waiting. No one ever expected him to be this kind of silent when they brought him back.

“We’re landing in a minute, grab your stuff.” Sam pushed a comms pack in Natasha’s direction. “I’m headed straight to the airport, so you’re on debrief duty with Fury. I’d _hate_ to fill out all those forms.”

This elicited a half-smile from Natasha. “Sure. Before you go, could you…” It was unusual to see the assassin hesitate in such a way, “Could you make sure Tony doesn’t seem him like this? He’ll be a mess.”

“How do you propose I do that, forcibly remove him from Steve’s bedside?”

“No, no, just…get him away from the landing pad, make sure he doesn’t follow the docs into ICU,” She scratched the back of her neck, “Let them clean him up first.”

“Got it,” Sam retorted, “Put myself between the infirm patient and his volatile boyfriend. I’ll be next into ICU, just you wait.” He grabbed his backpack, doing a quick check of its contents, before rubbing his brow heavily. “Ugh, I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”

Natasha returned to watching the doctors, who had wrapped Steve in a kind of insulating material – at least it concealed the severity of his state. They lifted his drawn frame with ease onto a wheeled gurney as the jet engines started to grumble, ready for arrival. Brace his head, check his spine, what’s the ECG looking like? Not up to par – prepare for transfer with the hospital team. Nat grabbed her kit bag too, jaw set and lips tight – ever the dutiful soldier. The jet touched the ground, door easing open to reveal a group 15-people strong waiting expectantly for their precious cargo. Thank God Tony wasn’t here yet.

“Unstable condition, recent witnessed cardiac arrest and acute asthma exacerbation, but now showing signs of life. Anticoagulants administered but this may affect other wounds later in treatment.” The gurney jolted as it made contact with the ramp. “Patient has recently been de-serumed, so experimental tech support will be required – get Doctor Cho on call for that. Eight days out of contact, in which he suffered major injuries to his head, chest and abdomen,” Natasha diverted her eyes as a spike of guilt flared inside, “as well as minor injury to the neck, back, arms, and legs. ICU is the best course of action – an MRI and surgery will both need to be prepped.” A chorus of ‘yes, sir’ echoed as Steve was wheeled away towards the building, passing by a stoic Fury and an unreadable Maria. Neither broke their gaze to look at the crowd.

“What the _hell_ was that, Fury?” Sam stalked off the jet and onto the ground, face stormy and ready for a fight. “As mission leader, I should’ve been informed of _all_ individual assignments – especially ones as important as this! Did you not think finding Steve shrivelled up in a cell might compromise me more than just telling me in the first place?” He stopped a foot away from the pair, and Nat followed him off the aircraft. “Man, that was a _dick_ move.” He brushed past, muttering expletives under his breath as he disappeared inside the base. Fury cleared his throat.

“Did he get the intel?” She handed over a black memory stick. “Well done on finding Steve, Romanoff. I hope you can help Wilson move on from this…unfortunate circumstance.”

“I wouldn’t recommend sending him out on the field for a little while. He won’t trust you.”

“That I am aware of.”

“It might have been a good idea to tell him about my objective.”

“I’ll be sure to bear your suggestion in mind for next time,” Fury retorted, “But for now I advise you to go indoors, Romanoff. Maria has left the appropriate paperwork on your desk.”

Natasha ground her teeth. “Yes, sir.” A terse smile to both, before heading back inside – certainly not towards her desk. She pulled out her phone. It took six rings for an answer.

“Tony, we’re back. Where are you?”

The voice on the other end cleared its throat, inhaling deeply (but shakily) in hopes of a calming effect. “ICU.”

Sam had one fucking job. “I’m guessing you’ve seen him. I’m coming down.” The elevator doors slipped shut. Floor Three. “Are you…um, okay?”

“Peachy.” There were definitely going to be tears.

“Don’t move until I get there. Don’t run off. And don’t do anything stupid.”

“Roger that.” Ugh. Natasha hated tears.

Time seemed to move slower – floor eight, floor seven, floor six – until she could finally disembark and worm through the maze of labs to the hospital centre. White floors, white ceilings, white coats – just follow the trail of noise. Her shoes clicked on the polished floors, speeding up every few steps at the worrying thought of Tony going AWOL. Eventually, she rounded a corner and spotted a bulky heap propped up against a wall. Could’ve been worse.

“Tony…” His watery eyes stared vacantly to the room opposite, knees pulled right up to his chest. Even through the bulletproof glass, the sheer tension in the ‘intensive treatment unit’ was plain. Doctors, nurses, and medics alike moving as one machine, frenziedly cooking up some magic cure. Well, hopefully they were.

“He looked so…” The words caught in Tony’s throat, and a tear threatened to escape. Natasha could have finished that sentence ten times over – vulnerable, exposed, defenceless, weak. None quite seemed right.

The pair continued to stare through the door, neither knowing what to say. Although the doctors obscured most of Steve from view, it didn’t offer much comfort from the incessant noise of beeping machines. The silence felt stuffy and thick. Tony did his best to control his breaths but to no avail.

“Bucky.” Natasha glanced down at the man below, who was refusing to make eye contact. “What did…”

“What did he say?” A hasty nod. “The big ones are heart trouble and severe asthma. Might also be half deaf, half blind, anaemic and have a skewed back.” Tony’s head dropped to his knees, and he tugged at the hair on the back of his head. “There might be some pathogenic diseases left over from the thirties, but we can’t be sure until blood tests come back.” Natasha shifted feet, hesitant to continue. “And then there’s whatever happened when he was…out of range.”

“Jesus…”

Natasha braced – it was best to just get the rest out as fast as possible. “After the de-seruming, we can assume Steve sustained heavy injuries from some form of torture, and minimal to no food. Before, he might have been okay, but now…” Nat scratched the back of her neck. “On the jet here, he had an asthma attack and suffered cardiac arrest. The doctors are doing what they can.”

Natasha squatted down next to the anguished form, ‘comfortingly’ draping an arm across Tony’s twitching shoulders. She allowed her fingers to rest on his throat, discovering a dangerously high pulse. Verging on panic attack high. Action was required.

“Tony,” Nat retracted her arm, “I’m going to call Rhodes, get him up here. I think you could use the support.” She stood back up, eyeing Tony (who was gnawing at a hangnail and breathing hard) as she stepped away. She pulled out her phone.

“Call me when you get this – we’re in the hospital unit.” A glance down. “Tony’s going to need you.”


	2. M.I.A. - Part Two

After what felt like days (but was probably hours), the renaissance painting forming in the hallway was disturbed. Rhodey, who had conjured up a chair, was sprawled outwards – legs akimbo, gently dozing with one arm resting on his friend’s knee. Tony, still on the floor, had merely lolled into the wall - eyes sealed, mouth slack. Natasha was stood (diligent as ever) looking slightly rumpled as she leant backwards too, eyelids wilting at the visible night sky. No natural light filtered through any grand windows; instead, this trio were illuminated only by the soft glow of the ‘Fire Exit’ sign. Green does wonders for the complexion.

“Excuse me?” Natasha shifted her eyes and kicked Rhodey. He jolted awake and, in turn, thumped Tony’s knee to knock some life into him. All three stared hazily at the woman in front of them, who was holding a clipboard and looking overworked. “Hi, my name is Doctor Hobbs, I’ve been monitoring Mr Rogers today. Who is his…next of kin?”

Natasha cleared her throat, exchanging a furtive glance with Rhodes. “Just tell all of us.”

“Very well.” The doctor peeled back a sheet on her clipboard. “While Mr Rogers’ condition does seem more balanced, I would be wary of calling it stable. We simply don’t understand the effects the de-seruming has had and doubt we will fully grasp it for years to come.” Rhodey sat up a little straighter.

“As it stands, Mr Rogers is in a drug-induced coma to reduce swelling on his brain and could be for a week or so. We also have him on a heavy dosage of antibiotics and IV fluids to rehydrate him. The good news is that older pathogen don’t seem to have survived, which means we can rule out TB, flu, fever, sinusitis, and probably stomach ulcers too. Any malicious pathogens will have been picked up in the last few days.” Natasha tried to ignore the venomous grunt coming from the direction of Tony’s shoulders.

“What about his…” Rhodes gestured towards his chest.

“Yes – his lungs and heart seem to be the main concerns going forward, but Doctor Helen Cho is on her way from South Korea as we speak to assist with ongoing treatment. Hopefully her genetic tech will provide some new avenues to pursue, but for now he’s on a ventilator.”

“So we can see him—”

“I’m afraid not, Mr Stark.” Tony’s jaw clenched, as did his fists. “We’re creating a sterile environment in there as preparation for surgery.”

“Surgery?!”

“We have a specialist from New York arriving soon to perform on trauma sustained to the spinal cord that the MRI picked up. We may also be able to correct his scoliosis during the operation.” Tony pushed his head against the wall, fingers rubbing at his temples. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say for now.”

Rhodey started forward in his chair. “Thank you, Doctor,” he smiled, eyes darting downwards in the direction of his friend, “We’ll come find you later if we have any…questions.” Hobbs nodded and ducked into the ICU, leaving the trio in a sobering silence. In the quiet, Rhodes heard Tony’s breathing catch in the back of his throat.

“Right!” Rhodey slapped his knees as he stood, shaking out the stiffness in his thighs. “I’m going to get some air. Tone?” This was met with nothing. “ _Tony_? This may sound like I’m asking, but it’s more of an instruction.” He presented an expectant hand to his friend, who merely glanced up.

“I’d rather wait.”

“Nah, not an option. Up.” Natasha smirked as Tony was pulled to his feet, steadied slightly as his numb legs nearly gave way, and gently encouraged down the corridor.

“I’ll let you know if there’s any updates,” she called, which was met with a small wave.

“And I’ll grab you some peanut M&M’s,” Rhodey returned, shifting his attention to the friend all-but-staggering along next to him. He placed a supportive hand on the small of Tony’s back, eyebrows furrowing at the vacant stare plaguing the other man’s face. The pair shifted left, approaching the sleek double doors to greet the darkened outside world. As they exited the automatic light stuttered on, making visible their breaths on the gloomy balcony.

“You look like shit.” The fluorescent lighting deepened the creases of Tony’s forehead lines and eye bags, ageing his greying face.

“I feel like shit.” Tony leaned against the fencing, rubbing at said wrinkles. “Two weeks ago, he was texting me pictures of a cute dog he saw in the park. Now he probably doesn’t even remember what a text is.” His face shattered as the implications of his half-joke immediately set in. “Rhodey…Rhodey, what if he doesn’t remember anything? What if he doesn’t know who I am?!”

“No! No – he will! Don’t torture yourself, man.” Tony forcibly exhaled. “Look,” Rhodey measured his tone carefully, “Whatever happens today, this is going to be a stressful few weeks. Months even.” Tony’s head dipped out of sight, and Rhodes quickly realised he was not helping the situation. “So-so what I’m trying to say is—” He spread his arms. “Let it out now.”

Tony’s eyebrow quirked, and Rhodey’s mouth gaped looking for further explanation.

“Okay, this is so not my forte, but…” He pinched at the base of his neck. “I remember, way back when, getting the radio that your convoy had been attacked. In Afghanistan, I mean.” He swallowed. In the distance a bird called, low and sustained. “And that cold, cold fear that shoots through you. Right to your gut. And then the months after, insisting you were still alive, searching every corner of that desert I could find – not letting myself grieve because that would make it _real_. Every time I’m out in the field I remember that feeling, because I know that I _never_ want anyone to have to feel that same terror.”

Rhodey felt his own breathing quicken, and Tony’s shoulders start to twitch. “What I’m trying to say is, I can’t possibly imagine _exactly_ how you’re feeling right now. But I need you to understand that you’re not alone. I’ve lived with that fear, and so has Pepper, and Steve, and half the soldiers I’ve ever met. I’m here to help you through it, to make sure you see the other side – because there _is_ another side. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony squeezed his eyes with his hands, torso spasming as he tried to gasp for air through his silent tears. Rhodey placed a warm hand on his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles. Eventually, Tony’s chokes regulated enough for him to force some words out.

“I thought I was having a fucking heart attack when he arrived in ICU. I thought—I thought that was it—” He was interrupted by a sob, which he quickly stifled with his own hand. He breathed deeply. “I thought he was dead, Jim. I can’t carry on without him.”

“You won’t have to – he’s strong; so much stronger than any serum could make him.” Tony started to regain control. “He will pull through because he’s got _you_. And besides, Bucky will probably kick his ass into the next life if he even _thinks_ about not recovering.”

Tony hummed in hesitant agreement, pawing at his damp eyes. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

A few minutes of quiet followed, during which the two men leaned up against the metal railing, shoulders affectionately knocking together. The chilling night breeze caught the back of their necks, and Rhodey pulled his jacket tighter.

“I know you like to think of yourself as the cool, moody, impulsive type—” This elicited a small laugh. “—But I know you too well, Tony Stark. I know that once you, y’know, process this, you’ll start looking for ways to help. Which I don’t think is a bad thing.”

Tony gave a rueful chuckle. “I can’t help a heart attack, Rhodey. Or asthma, for that matter.”

“Okay, okay, maybe not _yet_. But those hearing aids you worked on for Clint last year – I bet Steve could use those if he’s part deaf. Or, um…ooh! I bet the tech behind my leg braces could _easily_ be reworked to help his back.” Rhodey tried to disguise his smile as Tony’s eyes brightened, mind whirring with possibility. “You’re a helper, Tone, but you don’t like to admit it.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “All _I_ can do is help you to help Steve.”

Tony glanced up, all the adoration in the world painting the lines of his face as he gazed at his friend. He enveloped Rhodey in the tightest hug he could muster, swaying the pair in the hope it would convey the sheer gratitude he felt. The balcony retained this image for hours, of the two men talking, exchanging ideas, and solving problems. Dawn arrived, first painting her thin glow across the horizon, then bleeding yellow into green, tainting the navy night sky. It was as the sun’s infant rays began to warm the platform that Rhodey’s phone vibrated, halting the discussion to be checked.

“It’s Natasha. Apparently, the doctors have an update.”

Tony tried to smile, still-red eyes betraying what led beneath. “Okay. Okay.”

The two re-entered the building and lurched towards ICU, Rhodey silently cursing the lack of vending machines en route. Natasha would not be happy without her peanut M&M’s. They turned a sterile corner, greeting the awaiting group with polite nods.

“We have an update on Mr Rogers’ condition,” Dr Hobbs began. “The spinal surgery successfully corrected the superficial damage to his back, and our specialist has assured us that the spinal cord damage has been adequately rectified.” She gave a wry smile. “Of course, only when Mr Rogers regains consciousness will we know if everything has been repaired.” Tony shifted his eyes downwards. “However, you are now able to enter Mr Rogers’ room – if you’d like?”

Tony’s choked in surprise as Rhodey flashed a look at Natasha. “Yes. Yes please.”

The doctor inclined her head, stepping towards the doorway. “Keep in mind that Mr Rogers is extremely weakened, and likely won’t be woken for at least a week or so.”

Tony nodded; gaze affixed on the door as Hobbs swung it open. Tentatively, he stepped one foot over the threshold, then two, and repeated until he was a mere two feet away from the tangle of wires and solutes framed by a hospital cot. Tony felt his chin quiver, but set his jaw and forced a peek at the central figure.

It took Tony a moment to locate Steve. Beneath the sterility was a prone form, completely lifeless if not for the harmonising heart monitor and ventilator. His face was mannequin-esque, hollowed cheeks blooming red, purple, and black. Lower still: an anatomy sketched with pins, dressings, and cables, fusing the carcass to an alchemy of IVs. Despite the doctors’ best efforts, smudges of blood remained staining white sheets and skin, drawing the eye to lips, chest, and back. But below the brutality lay a serenity – held in Steve’s dark eyelashes, the soft curve of his mouth, and the simple inaction in his fingertips. The ground seemed to sway under Tony’s feet for a second, and he grabbed the bed rail to steady himself. Despite the heart pounding in his chest, he was suddenly overcome with an innate wave of acceptance. He was a Stark – and if a Stark could give Steve the serum in the first place, he could sure as hell figure out a way to do it again. Everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know it's been a while but I'm starting to get back into writing again and it's been super relaxing! Hope you enjoyed (and I hope it's not another 11 months to the next part lol)

**Author's Note:**

> I know this might seem vague and unsatisfying at the moment - next chapter will complete this part, and then we'll jump back in time for a bit more context and relationship development! :)


End file.
